


Playing Pretend

by NormieScum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Banter, M/M, Pining, Unrequitted Love, Vent Writing, this is so short omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NormieScum/pseuds/NormieScum
Summary: Jean is a sad, sad boy.





	Playing Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a short little drabble I wrote for my RP account, I was vent writing to clear my head and I wanted to upload it here because I tend to lose my roleplay accounts all the time and I want this to stay up because I'm actually kinda happy with it. For as short as it is. Anyway, thanks for the boundless support! I love yall. :)

Shallow breath catching in his throat, Jean stared at the ceiling above him. A thin layer of cracked white paint being his only amusement for the late night. He followed the crack that started above his cot along the ceiling with warm hazel eyes that searched for more than an end to the wear and tear of the barracks. The rickety bed underneath him serving as an unspoken anchor to his drifting thoughts. His hands folded into each other over top his chest, the male with messy blond hair counted all of only three blessings he had that made his life worth living. One, the smile on his mother’s face when he returned to her for a visit next week (granted he lived to next week to visit his mom). Two, tomorrow was spaghetti Tuesday and he had every intention on eating so much he regretted it.

And three, that look on his face when they said just about anything to each other. It wasn’t even really a look or even a glance for that matter. But he found himself thankful for whatever it was that he felt when their eyes met. Inexperienced and resentful, he wasn’t sure what to call the warmth that washed over him at the brush of their shoulders touching or the warmth of his breath whenever they were in one of their ever more frequent tussles. Or on worse days, the pain in his chest when he realized the closeness of Eren and Mikasa.

What was it called?

Armin had told him it was simply jealousy.

‘Don’t worry Jean, Mikasa values your friendship as well.’ The blond would remind him, as if he was worried that she didn’t. As if any of this (apparently obvious) pessimism was about Mikasa.  
Turning onto his side, Jean let out a heaving sigh, his eyes still following that long, faint crack in the ceiling until it stopped above Eren’s bunk.

Noticing the brunet’s sleeping body, he found comfort in the distant rise and fall of his chest. The feelings of discomfort and excitement returning with every apprehensive second he thought about Eren. His rival, his ‘enemy’. The person he considered the enemy in the beginning was now the ass end of his desires.

Eren was now his vanilla sky and he longed for every time he was given that fucking ‘look’. Even if it was one of negativity, just the comfort of emerald eyes giving him attention was enough.

“I care about you,” He whispered, to seemingly no one in particular but to him, it was obvious. His mother had always taught him to tell people he cared while they were around because nothing was certain. But it was so hard with Eren, he found himself trying to say express his care in innovative ways such as punching him softer than he would punch anyone else. Or whispering sweet little words like “I can’t stand you” to offset the confusing feelings that he was plagued with. To drown out the growing desire to crawl into bed with Eren and hold him. To silence the inevitabilities that were happening right in front of his eyes that he had no control over.

Rolling away so that he was facing away from Eren on his side and tucked his pillow behind him so that it was propped against his back to offer a small, unconvincing amount of warm. Using his arm as a pillow, he buried his face against the fabric of the sheets to muffle the quiet sniffling. Somehow, he found comfort in acting as though the pillow were a certain brunet. There was no shame in playing pretend, right?


End file.
